


I'll Be Seeing You

by FoxGlade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bittersweet, Episode: s15e20 Carry On Coda, Family, Gen, but like. emphasis on the sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxGlade/pseuds/FoxGlade
Summary: Sam doesn’t even know if he expects Jack to show, when he prays. He doesn’t hope for it, doesn’t feel anything, but maybe there’s some certainty in his gut, some desperate little stubborn thing that won’t let go of the last person in his family who could possibly still come back.Jack doesn’t show. But on the fourth day, Castiel does.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	I'll Be Seeing You

**Author's Note:**

> i mean what the fuck, right? this might as well happen. like everyone else im breaking a writing hiatus of six months, and an Any Interest At All In Supernatural hiatus of fucking years, because what the fuck. what the FUCK. more fic to come probably, I GUESS
> 
> anyway here's how sastiel can still w

Sam stays at Dean’s pyre until it crumbles into glowing embers, sparks flying into the early morning sky and mingling with the stars. It’s only when those start to fade, too, that he begins to pray.

He prays as he pours water over the last of the coals. He prays as he collects Miracle from where she’s sleeping against the wheel of the Impala. He prays as he drives back to the bunker, as he stares down at the empty place he calls home, he prays as he opens the fridge to take out the last of the beers Dean had left in there.

He prays as he drinks, and then he thinks about how that’s such a Dean thing to do, and then he prays harder.

_Please, Jack. Please, anyone. Please, Jack…_

One day blurs into two, eased along by the alcohol. It dries up quickly, but by the third day he’s seized by a dry, empty grief that numbs him to the silence of the bunker. There’s no hopelessness, not yet, even as his prayers climb up into the thousands with no response. Not even a twinge of ironic frustration that, after everything he said, Jack was every bit as absent as Chuck had been in the role. Just the numbness taken hold of his chest as he mechanically goes about the bunker, making food he doesn’t taste, taking Miracle outside when she whines, stares blankly at the initials and names carved into the table he keeps returning to.

_Where are you, Jack? Please?_

He doesn’t even know if he expects Jack to show. He doesn’t hope for it, doesn’t feel anything, but maybe there’s some certainty in his gut, some desperate little stubborn thing that won’t let go of the last person in his family who could possibly still come back.

Jack doesn’t show. But on the fourth day, Castiel does.

There’s no flap of wings, no gust of wind sending papers flying. One moment Sam is tracing the angles of a harshly carved D, and the next there’s a hand next to his on the table, delicately running a finger along the grooves that make up the word JACK. Sam startles back, head shooting up.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says.

It’s like a panic attack and a sugar rush at the same time, as the emotions flood back into his body. He’s swearing even as he hauls Cas into an embrace, awkward given they’re still sitting, but both of them hang on tight.

“You’re back?” he stutters, clinging to the stupid trenchcoat. “I thought -- everyone else is -- Cas, Dean, he--”

His voice breaks. Cas pulls back enough to put a hand on the back of Sam’s neck, the gesture so reminiscent of Dean’s affection it makes his eyes water. “I know,” Cas says softly. “Sam, I don’t have long.”

Sam’s hands grip the fabric so hard he almost hears his knuckles creak. “You can’t leave,” he croaks. “I prayed, Cas, I prayed to… did you hear me? Where were you?”

 _Why weren’t you here,_ remains unsaid, but Cas looks so devastated that Sam knows he may as well have screamed it in his face.

“Jack heard you,” Cas says softly. “He’s still trying to get the undeserving human souls back from the Empty. It was easier, retrieving me; all it cost was my Grace, and the promise of my never leaving Heaven again. A promise he’s broken now, but…” He smiled, something sweet and uncomplicated that Sam had rarely seen on him before. “He knows family is what’s important.”

Head spinning from the wild rush of emotions threatening to drag him under, Sam latches on to a spike of hope Cas’s words bring. “The human souls in the Empty,” he says, almost a gasp. “Is that. Do you mean…”

“The hunters,” Cas says, and Sam brings a hand to his mouth. “Eileen, Donna, Bobby, Charlie. He’s working to bring them home, Sam.” His face turns pained suddenly, and his eyes slide over Sam’s shoulder as he continues, “I - I don’t know if Mary will return with them. We haven’t found her in Heaven, yet, but her soul may return there once freed. I’m sorry --”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Sam cuts him off. He doesn’t know if that’s a lie; he feels dizzy with every new word, joy and hope and fear and helplessness spinning inside him like the clothes dryer on the fritz. “She’s -- she deserves peace.” He swallows. “Is… is Dean..?”

And Cas smiles at him again. “He’s in Heaven,” he says, and Sam slumps back, dizzy relief coursing through him. “He’s at peace. It’s different there, now. People aren’t trapped in memories anymore -- they create new ones, with other people, everyone sharing the same happiness. And I promise, he’s happy,” Cas says, suddenly fierce, gripping Sam’s shoulder and staring into his eyes. “I couldn’t do this for him on Earth, but Sam, I will spend the rest of eternity making sure Dean is happy and at peace.”

Sam takes a shuddering breath, blinking away tears. “Are you happy, Cas?” he rasps. “Is that what you want, your Heaven?”

Cas’s answering smile is blinding, and he lets out something between a laugh and a sob as he answers, “Never having to leave his side again,” he says, “is the only Heaven I’ve wanted for years.”

Sam nods, giving a fragile smile in return. “That’s what would make him happiest, too,” he says quietly. “Never having to watch you go.” He huffs, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t even make fun of him. I always thought I’d give him so much shit when you two finally got together, and he’s not even…”

“I will gladly pass along any brotherly taunts you wish,” Cas says, almost the same dry tone he used when they first met, and Sam breaks into helpless laughter. It’s a small thing, wet with tears and quick to die, but it had been there all the same, and Sam holds on to the feeling. 

When he looks up again, Cas has his head tilted to the side, eyes distant. “Cas?” he asks.

“I have to return,” Cas says. “Jack can’t shield my presence for long.” He squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “Sam. Your friends will return. And if they don’t, Jack will. I… I won’t ask you to have faith. But please. Trust your family."

“I do,” Sam says, and pulls Cas into a final hug, trying not to choke on everything he still hadn’t said. “Thank you. For being my family. I -- I love you.”

He feels Cas’s hands clench in his jacket. “I love you, too,” he says quietly.

Those hands don’t loosen their grip until what must be the last second, because when Cas pulls away, there’s barely a moment for him to put a hand on Sam’s cheek and whisper, “Goodbye, Sam,” before he vanishes. No wingbeats, no breeze. Not a single thing to show he was ever there, except for the warmth radiating from Sam’s chest, beating back the numbness.

The grief would stay, of course. It would probably stay as long as Sam lived, however long that would be. But the warmth came from the trust and love he had in his family, for the ones who were gone, and for the ones he had to believe were coming back. And there was no force on Heaven or Earth that could beat something that strong.


End file.
